


like a rolling thunderstorm

by lesbianbuckys



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Familiars, Fluff, M/M, Magic, Matchmaking, Meet-Cute, Neighbors, Pets, Pining, ferre is a flirt and courf is a dumbass gay, witch combeferre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 06:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianbuckys/pseuds/lesbianbuckys
Summary: “Well,” Combeferre said, voice lower than it was before, “Maybe she should annoy you more often.”So, they were flirting now.Huh.Carmilla chirped at the mention of her and Courfeyrac could feel the pull of a smile at his lips, “Maybe she should.”Or, in which Courfeyrac pines and Combeferre's familiar is an asshole.





	like a rolling thunderstorm

The sun was beginning to set as Courfeyrac slumped into the plush chair on his balcony, steam rising from the ceramic mug in his hands. He let the lingering, sticky sweetness of his friends’ magic wash over him. Courfeyrac was no witch, but he spent enough time around them to become attuned to magic. He could pick out the perfumed haze of Cosette’s magic, the sharp smokiness of Bahorel’s. Magic was clung oppressively to every surface and settled in the far-hidden crevices of his apartment. His friends had left, but their magic hung heavy in the air, like dew after rain, the only thing to indicate that they’d been there at all.

Magic had always been a mystery to Courfeyrac. Whenever Jehan tried to teach him the most basic of spells, it was like he was trying to catch smoke - the magic faded before he could even grasp it. Magic was something that existed outside what he could reach, behind a veil that vanished when his hands clawed at it. He knew it was there, just beyond his eyes. Maybe one day his eyes would adjust to the dark and he would be able to see it as clear as day.

Courfeyrac’s lack of magic really didn’t bother him as much as he expected it to, especially being surrounded by witches. Magic was warm and comforting, but its absence didn’t leave an emptiness. Instead, it brought a profound potency - he would wager he was more attuned to other people’s magic more than any of his magical friends were, like a blind man hearing every slight sound. He found contentedness in the dusky hangovers of magic, the discarded remains and secondhand smoke.

Courfeyrac sunk deeper into the chair, the sky above streaking watercolours through the clouds as the sun was devoured by the looming horizon. The hot, summer night hung as thick as magic in the air, a tangible presence, weighing his body down with sweat, clinging to his skin. His eyes began to droop, body aching from a long day of moving into his new apartment. He would’ve fallen asleep if he hadn't noticed the cat sitting at his feet.

He didn’t own a cat.

Courfeyrac didn’t get up from his seat, just turning his head to look at it. It glared back, as if it was challenging him. A pair of grey, beady eyes narrowed at him, black tail flickering like a broken lightbulb.

“Huh,” was all Courfeyrac said. It meowed in response. He could’ve sworn it sounded pissed off.

A curt rapping at the door shattered the odd trace the cat and he were frozen in. It circled around his feet as he left the balcony and Courfeyrac was certain it was trying to trip him over on purpose.

“Stop it, you little shit,” he hissed, desperately trying to nudge (definitely not kick) it out of the way as he answered the door and-

Oh.

Oh, _dear_.

Standing in his doorway was perhaps the most stunning man Courfeyrac had ever seen. The antiseptic hallway lights illuminated coppery skin and glinted in bright, brown, wide eyes. A pair of glasses perfectly sat atop high cheekbones, framing a long face. A messy crop of dark curls draped over the shaved sides of his head. Oh, he was a marvel.

And then he smiled. Courfeyrac thought he would spontaneously combust.

“Sorry,” the man began, “I was wondering if you’ve seen a-”

As if it could tell he was asking about it, the cat meowed at him, staring up with an expression much softer then the glare it gave Courfeyrac.

“Ah, there you are, you asshole,” he said to the cat and yeah, Courfeyrac was already smitten. The man then turned to him, “Sorry about her, she has a tendency to piss people off.”

The cat meowed indignantly and Courfeyrac smirked, “I thought pets weren’t allowed in this building.”

It had been one of the things that turned him off his apartment when he was looking at moving, but it was ridiculously big for the price and the bus stop outside took him directly to his work. He could sacrifice the potentiality of having pets.

Suddenly, the cat vanished in a puff of smoke before reappearing on the man’s shoulders, draping herself across lazily. So, a familiar then.

“Well, Carmilla’s actually a spirit who pledged herself to me until I die,” he deadpanned, “so I don’t think I’m breaking any rules.”

Courfeyrac wondered why he hadn’t been able to detect her magic. It was only now he was beginning to sense it - earthy and fresh, but slightly cold, like smell of ozone after a thunderstorm. It left goosebumps ripping over his flesh, the remaining dregs of tiredness vanishing from the back of his eyes.

“Not sure the landlord will see it like that, but your secret is safe with me anyway.”

She meowed again, almost dryly, causing the man to scoff, “She appreciates it, deep down. I’m Combeferre, by the way.”

“Courfeyrac, I just moved in.”

“I thought so,” he smiled as Carmilla’s tail thumped loudly against his broad shoulder (oh, his shoulders), “Well, if you ever need anything - a hand unpacking, a cup of sugar, a tour of the building - I’m just two doors down.”

Courfeyrac could feel a blush rising in his cheeks - of course, he had to be kind - “I’ll keep that in mind.”

When Combeferre disappeared down the hall, taking Carmilla with him, he let his head rest against the door and sighed deeply.

The universe was out to get him.

-

“Since when did you have a cat?” asked Grantaire.

Courfeyrac groaned as he returned successful from his search for the block of chocolate he had stashed at the back of his pantry, “I don’t.”

Sure enough, Carmilla was sitting on his couch in the spot he had just vacated, eyeing him bemusedly. She chirped at him and Courfeyrac thought he must be going mad because she almost sounded sarcastic. He threw the chocolate at Grantaire, who broke off a row.

“Then why did one suddenly materialise in your apartment?”

“Because,” Courfeyrac began just as someone knocked on the door, as expected, and he picked her up, ignoring her hissing, “she’s a pain in the ass.”

He wasn’t surprised to see Combeferre in the doorway but it still left him breathless. He looked slightly weary - hair ever-so mussed and tired eyes that seemed to light up when the door opened. His button-up work shirt was pulled just a little bit taunt over his chest (oh, yes) and Courfeyrac just managed to catch the fine glint of a nose piercing (oh, _yes!)_.

He could also feel Combeferre’s magic, more attuned to it since their first meeting. It drummed a sure, steady beat to a syncopated rhythm. It was heavy static energy in the air and Courfeyrac could only imagine a burst of bright lightning as it arched through a dreary night sky. His magic was charged and strong, a pounding power hidden under his fingertips, waiting to be unleashed.

Even through his tiredness, Combeferre still smiled brightly when he saw Courfeyrac, “Figured you’d be here.”

“Well, it is my place.”

Combeferre sighed, but there was no exasperation or anger to it, “I meant Carmilla.”

“What? Oh, yeah,” he handed her over, “Take her.”

She immediately climbed onto Combeferre’s shoulders and made a disgruntled sound, which he laughed at, “She said she never wants to be picked up again. Too embarrassing for her.”

He leaned against the doorframe, “So you can actually understand her?”

He nodded, “I rather wish I couldn’t, actually. She can be quite rude.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Courfeyrac eyed Carmilla, who hissed at him in reply.

Combeferre grinned again, giving his familiar a knowing look before turning to Courfeyrac, “I’m sorry about her, I’ll make sure she doesn’t disturb you again.”

“I don’t really mind. Especially if it means I get to see you again.”

Then, Courfeyrac’s gut dropped at his brash flirting. He hadn’t meant it to come out so brazen. Normally, he would think nothing of it - he was just naturally flirty, sure, he would back off it the other person was uncomfortable - but there was something about Combeferre that shook the very foundations of his own self to the core. What was once taken for granted had been ripped from under him. He made him unsure, a constant lurch throughout his entire body, but he found he didn’t mind it.

Combeferre, for his part, didn’t seem uncomfortable. Instead, his eyebrows raised in surprise and a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Courfeyrac didn’t miss how his eyes dropped suggestively before returning to his face, gaze more heated now. Combeferre, ever so slightly, bit his lip and holy fuck, Courfeyrac was absolutely and totally gone for this boy.

“Well,” Combeferre said, voice lower than it was before, “Maybe she should annoy you more often.”

So, they were _flirting_ now.

Huh.

Carmilla chirped at the mention of her and Courfeyrac could feel the pull of a smile at his lips, “Maybe she should.”

Combeferre shook his head and began to walk away, the moment between them gone, as he let the door close behind. Courfeyrac could hear his footsteps getting fainter as trudged down the hall. Carmilla gave a curt meow from outside, followed by a mumbled “shut up.”

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. _Fuck. You’re shitting me._ Combeferre was _flirting_. He was flirting _back_ and Courfeyrac was only just beginning release that maybe he was in far deeper than he first thought.

“So,” Grantaire said, smiling smugly and Courfeyrac felt only slightly guilty that he’s forgotten about him, “That was perhaps the most sickening display of pining I’ve ever seen. And this is coming from me.”

“Grantaire, please-” he groaned.

He sat up straighter in his seat, “You’re telling me everything you know about your hot neighbour.”

-

Thankfully, Carmilla hadn’t been around the next time he saw Combeferre. They had both been returning from work (Courfeyrac had just learnt Combeferre was a history teacher and he was definitely not thinking of him with kids), bodies aching and eyes slightly stinging - although Combeferre looked more tired then Courfeyrac did, a certain slouch to his movements that seemed to weigh him down. They walked back to their respective apartments in a comfortable silence, the quiet air stretched between them. Combeferre kept trudging down the hall while Courfeyrac was about to let himself inside had an idea.

His ideas normally resulted in either less money or less dignity, so he should’ve thought more about it.

“Do you want to come inside? Have a drink?” Courfeyrac said before he could stop himself, “I got a shit-ton of alcohol as housewarming gifts and there’s no way I’ll be able to drink it all.”

Surprise rippled through Combeferre’s face, eyebrows arching. Shit. Of course, Courfeyrac would fuck this up. Why would he say yes when he was so tired from work?

But Combeferre smiled (his smile was quickly becoming one of Courfeyrac’s favourite things about him), “Sure, I can always go for a drink.”

He let them both into his apartment, before heading to the pantry in search for a fancy bottle of red wine. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Combeferre shrugging off his coat, nothing but a short-sleeved button-up on and…

He had tattoos.

Courfeyrac almost dropped the glasses. He was royally screwed.

Combeferre was blissfully unaware of the effect he had on him. He sunk into the couch and gratefully accepted the glass of wine Courfeyrac held out for him, enraptured by the bob of his throat as he took a sip. He looked stunning - half-curled up on the couch, head gently resting on the side, glasses slightly askew due to his position. He had made himself so effortlessly at home like he trusted Courfeyrac with the side of himself only known by his four walls.

Courfeyrac spoke but said little, instead more than happy to let Combeferre ramble - about his job, the book he was reading, meaningless filler to stretch the silence. They were both loosened, a combination of Friday-night exhaustion and the stirrings of alcohol. It was getting late but Courfeyrac wanted Combeferre to say as long as possible. For his part, Combeferre had no intention to leave.

“How did you meet Carmilla?” Courfeyrac asked. None of his magical friends had familiars and they were an uncommon sight to see amongst witches.

“It’s a funny story, actually,” Combeferre said, “I ran her over with a car.”

“You what?”

He laughed, eyes crinkling at the sides, and Courfeyrac only just noticed the faint smattering of freckles that dusted his face, “When I got my first car, I was driving at night and felt something hit me. Went to check and she was under a tire. I thought I killed her, but then she vanished and reappeared on the bonnet, perfectly fine,” he took another drink from the glass, “Been stuck with the piece of shit ever since.”

Courfeyrac scoffed, “And is her name actually Carmilla?”

“No, only I know her real name” he replied, “Names have power over familiars. But I was really into gothic fiction at the time so...Carmilla.”

He spoke about her with such fondness, even curled around the way he said piece of shit. There was a warmth to his voice that Courfeyrac hadn’t noticed before, eyes softening and lips upturning into a ghost of a smile. A warmth spread through his features, easing the tired creases from under his eyes. It was hard not to be endeared by it.

Courfeyrac didn’t know if it was his exhaustion or his enraptured focus on Combeferre but he felt the glass of wine slip from his hand. The splintering of crackled glass never came. Instead, Combeferre’s hand was splayed out and the glass hovered in mid-air, wine threatening to spill out over the side. Courfeyrac could taste the metallic tang of his magic on his tongue, crackling and rumbling with an undefined, electric power.

Combeferre picked up the hovering glass from the air, setting it on the coffee table, “You’re tired, Courf. You should’ve kicked me out ages ago.”

His heart pounded loudly in his ears at the nickname, face suddenly getting very hot, “I’d never kick you out.”

His half-delirious attempt at flirting while tired seemed to work because Combeferre flushed and all he could stutter out was “I’m glad,” he stood up to leave, letting a hand gently squeeze Courfeyrac’s shoulder and he could’ve sworn there was magic put into the touch if the shockwaves it sent down his spine was anything to go by.

“I’ll see you around then,” it was a half-statement, half-plea.

Combeferre smirked, “I guess you will.”

-

  
**to: grand r**

my life is over

**from: grand r**

?? whats going on

**from: grand r**

wait is this abt ur hot neighbour

**to: grand r**

hes killing me

**to: grand r**

r?? pls help me

**to: grand r**

dont leave me in my hour of need!!!

_(Read 01:08 A.M)_

-

Courfeyrac didn’t know why he was still surprised to see Carmilla glaring up at him. Nevertheless, the small, black lump in the middle of his building's hallway greeted him with a faint, yet still sour meow. Her tail thumped softly against the worn carpet, eyes blinking lazily with disdain. She hadn’t hissed at him yet, so it was practically a friendly welcome.

“The landlord could find you,” Courfeyrac said with as much authority he could muster (it wasn’t a lot), “I don’t think Combeferre would be happy with that.”

She chirped dismissively, as if saying _“So what?”_

Courfeyrac couldn’t believe he was being sassed by a cat.

Sighing, he scooped her up, despite her pissed off hissing, trying to shuffle her into one arm. Honestly, it seemed like she just wanted to be as inconvenient as possible, considering she could teleport. He managed to make it down the hall to Combeferre’s door without dropping Carmilla, still desperate to escape his grip but not enough to magically vanish.

The door opened to reveal a weary Combeferre, “Hey, I didn’t realise Carmilla was missing.”

He stood half-way through the door frame, glasses sitting atop his hair, pushing tufts of curls back, and still blinking sleep from his eyes, even though it was late enough in the morning that answering the door in pyjamas was no longer acceptable. Courfeyrac didn’t process this, instead focusing on the fact that he was wearing nothing a distressed sleep shirt and boxers that left little to the imagination. His brain was pure white noise. He could barely string a thought together that didn’t consist of words other than _holy_ and _shit_. In that order.

“Courfeyrac?” Combeferre was saying, and Courfeyrac had to force himself to look at his face, “Can I have my cat back?”

“Sorry,” he began, handing Carmilla over to him, “I was...distracted.”

Combeferre set her on the floor and rubbed at his eyes, “By my wit and charm?”

“By your bed hair, actually.”

He laughed and it was a glorious sound, deep undertones still husky from sleep, ringing and clear. He leaned against the wall, and Courfeyrac couldn’t help but imagine mornings with him, seeing that drowsy smile when he awoke.

“Well, good thing Carmilla decided to fuck around in the morning then,” he joked, “Otherwise you might have never got to see me with a birds nest on top of my head.”

For her part, Carmilla chittered, looking between him and Combeferre and if Courfeyrac hadn’t been mistaken, she looked almost smug. She must’ve said something, because Combeferre glared down at her, eyes narrowing, but still turned back to him with a smirk.

“You know,” he began, voice deepening which definitely doesn’t make Courfeyrac’s face run hot, thank you very much, “It occurs to me that you’re new around here and you mightn't know about the amazing Italian place a couple of blocks away.”

“And I suppose you want to come with me?”

“Of course. I have to make sure you try the most delicious gnocchi of your life,” Combeferre said, but he waited for just a second too long and Courfeyrac noticed the unsteadiness seeping into his voice, the slight crease at his eyes, "Do you want to-”

“Yes,” he replied breathlessly, a little too quickly.

Combeferre split into a wide, beaming grin, bright and warm, and it felt like it could be home.

  
-

After their third date, they sprawled out in Courfeyrac’s bed, sheets draped loosely around them, nothing but skin on skin. Combeferre gently ghosted his fingers up his side, warm magic seeping through with every touch. He turned his head from where it was pillowed on Combeferre’s chest to kiss up his neck, his jaw and finally his lips. Courfeyrac was beginning to discover that kissing Combeferre was like kissing a rolling thunderstorm, magic bubbling and crackling under his skin, and there was an intensity rumbling beneath that he could only feel in the desperate fumbling in the shadows.

Combeferre was sliding a light hand up his back and pressing tiny, yet biting kisses to his collarbone when Carmilla appeared at the foot of the bed, giving them a sharp meow with a self-satisfied look.

“What did she say?” Courfeyrac asked.

He could feel Combeferre smiling into his skin, “She said, _‘it was worth it.’_ ”

“What was worth it?”

He raised his brow and it suddenly clicked - the vanishing, the smug looks she gave them both…

“That meddling little shit,” Courfeyrac swore and Combeferre laughed as he kissed him again.

**Author's Note:**

> [hmu on tumblr, friends!](http://lesbianbuckys.tumblr.com/)


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